Chronicles of Narnia: Ariadne
by thewarriorqueen01
Summary: Ariadne Thorn doesn't think of herself as special. She enjoys working in the local bookshop and has a secret crush on her co-worker that she knows can never blossom into anything. Apart from those two things and being a little "over-neat", Ariadne is painfully normal. Then one night, an accident alters everything. Plunged into a world of magic and blood, Ariadne must make a choice.
1. Disclaimer

**Disclaimer**

The author of this fan fiction does not, in any way, profit from the story and all creative rights to the characters belong to their original creator(s).

Based on the _Chronicles of Narnia _by the brilliant C.S. Lewis.

* * *

**Author's Note**

I have been an admirer of Lewis' work for many years, ever since I first delved into the metaphorical wardrobe and discovered the wonderful, fantastical universe that is Narnia. Aslan himself holds much fascination for me, as does the fairy-tail type inhabitants of Narnia.

Continuing with my interests in placing characters of my own creation in worlds built from the minds of other writers, this story will explore the idea of a 21st century stranger being plunged into a Narnia seated on the edge of war.


	2. Prologue

**PROLOGUE**

* * *

A light breeze swept through the trees, making the leaves rustle gently. In the grey light of dawn, a young woman used her breath to encourage a small fire back to life. From the glowing coals, hungry flames suddenly began to gnaw at the wood. Her dark eyes sparkled with satisfaction as she sat back on her heels. She reached up with a hand and pulled her thick hair over a shoulder. Holding out her hands, she warmed them. After the chill of the night, she was grateful for the chance to heat up again. Rising fluidly to her feet, she hefted a travelling pot from the coals at the fire's edge and set it in the dirt. A canteen of water was emptied into the pot before she returned it to the fire.

Dusting her hands off, the young woman glanced at the sky. Overhead, wispy clouds and powder blue heavens promised a reasonably pleasant day. She was glad she could finally cast off her heavy woollen cloak. Her brown cotton breeches, leather vest and long-sleeved white shirt would serve nicely in warmer weather. As would her knee-high boots.

A sound at the edge of the clearing made her turn. "You took long enough, Avery Atwell," she called, her voice soft and musical.

A broad shouldered twenty-something man emerged from the trees with a brace of rabbits in his hand. "I suppose you are expecting an apology, Evelyn Chesney?" he asked, copying her mocking tone when he said her name.

Evelyn shrugged with a playful wink. "I've never known you to say sorry without a good reason."

"If that is true, you miss out." Smiling at Evelyn's pretend incredulity, Avery knelt beside the fire and pulled a flat rock toward him. Producing a knife from his thick belt, he began the task of skinning his catch. Watching him, Evelyn made a face.

"You only do that in camp to make me feel nauseous, don't you."

"Of course."

Evelyn sighed and placed her hands on her hips. "Why do I venture out here with you?"

"Because the Western March might be good for hunting but it certainly isn't a place to wander about by yourself. Chippington's about the only civilization this far west in Narnia." Avery tossed the rabbit meat into the water-filled pot and got to his feet. He dusted off the knees of his trousers. "And you, my dear, Evelyn, have a habit of getting into trouble."

"Only because you put me there!" Evelyn retorted. "Most of the danger I get into is because of your wild schemes."

Avery turned on her, a grin playing about his mouth. "Why do you keep referring to the -"

"I keep referring to the _bandits_, Avery, because attempting to trade with them was _more _than a bad idea." Evelyn threw her hands into the air and laughed. "I had to save _you_!"

The water in the pot began to boil. Avery shook his head slowly and started rummaging in a sack. He collected a few vials and opened the corks on each. Crushed herbs were poured into the water and mixed in with a twig. Avery returned the corks to the vials and the vials to the sack before he looked at Evelyn.

"Need I remind you that I have saved your life far more than once," he said.

Evelyn smiled tenderly. "No," she told him softly, her fingers reaching out to entangle themselves in his shirt. "I remember."

Avery stepped toward her and slid his strong arms around her waist. As the fire crackled quietly, birds sung hymns to the morning sun and the day slowly drew on. Evelyn and Avery stood in a warm silence, simply enjoying being in each other's arms. Evelyn pressed herself against his body and laid her head on his shoulder. He reached up to run his hand through her dark hair.

"Evelyn," he said after a time, and she felt his voice fill her mind.

"Yes?"

He pulled back from her and looked down into her eyes, his own, pools of forest green, were consumed with an emotion Evelyn didn't understand. Her eyebrows lowered in confusion.

"Evelyn Chesney," he whispered, leaning down so his mouth was close to hers, "You are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes upon. Your eyes, your hair, your skin ... You are perfect."

"Avery." Evelyn was surprised. It was rare for him to show so much emotion. Avery often hid behind the walls he had built about his heart. Evelyn had always surmised that after the murder of his mother, father and twin sisters, Avery was afraid of losing the people he cared about. After years of wondering why he had finally opened up to _her _of all people, Evelyn concluded that Avery had decided she could take care of herself. She pressed her lips against his. They shared the most passionate kiss Evelyn had ever experienced.

When they pulled apart, Evelyn suddenly felt uneasy. "Avery," she repeated. "Avery, is something wrong?"

"No!" He almost shouted it. Avery closed his eyes and sighed. "No," he said softly. "Evelyn, everything will be fine. Everything ..." He kissed her again, his arms tightening around her so violently she gasped for breath.

She wrenched herself away. "Avery, you're hurting me."

He stood there, his arms by his sides, wearing the most forlorn look she had ever seen on his face. At once, she felt guilty. Evelyn took a few steps forward and gently brushed his straw-colored fringe away from his forehead.

"I am sorry." She kissed him, her hands brushing across his shirt.

He caught her up in his arms again but was more gentle. He leaned into the kiss before slowly pulling a little away. "Evelyn, I have something to tell you. Something important that you must tell someone when the time comes."

Evelyn stared at him. "Have you gone mad?"

He grasped her shoulders. "Evelyn, please listen to me. I - you won't believe me but ..."

"But what?" Evelyn asked warily. Her world was suddenly being tossed upside down, and she didn't like it.

The fear in his eyes was replaced with awe and more love than he had ever had for her. When he spoke she could barely hear his words. "I have seen Aslan. He has walked in my dreams."

"Aslan!" Evelyn breathed. "Avery, Aslan has not been heard of for _centuries_. Perhaps it was just that ... merely a dream."

"No, Evelyn, no. He is real. I saw him. He - he spoke to me." Avery's burning gaze locked onto Evelyn's frightened eyes. "He told me many things you can not yet know. I must tell you now that someone will come. Someone will be bought here to stop the war." He paused for a moment. All Evelyn could hear was birdsong and sanity slipping from her life. "Evelyn," Avery said, "You must recall that _night is not something to fear _and that _two steps backward is the best way forward_. Aslan told me to tell you these things. I know they make no sense but someone will come who shall understand."

Evelyn closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Avery, if I pretend to believe you -"

Her words were lost as Avery suddenly kissed her hard on the mouth. "Evelyn, I love you. No matter what happens, I love you."

It was the first time he had ever said those words. For a moment, all Evelyn could do was stare at him. Then she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him more passionately than she had thought she was capable of. He returned the kiss, pressing her against him. She felt as though she were melting into him, into his warmth. In her twenty one years of life, from her childhood in Archenland to the present in the west of Narnia, Evelyn had never felt so full of emotion. He held her in his strong arms ... and she never wanted to leave.

Evelyn was just about to pull back and slowly end the kiss when Avery's body bucked violently. Then, without warning, his grip lessened and he stopped kissing her. A sigh escaped his lips. Evelyn pulled back, confused. Then Avery's weight came crashing down on her and it was all she could do to keep him upright.

"Avery? Avery!" She looked down at his paled face and watched in utter horror as his eyes lost focus. His head tilted back. She slid to the ground with him in her arms. "Avery, please. I - I don't ... Avery, I don't understand! Please, no. Avery, no." As her arm brushed his upper chest she felt blood trickle over her skin, warm death as his life force left him.

Lost in a storm of anguish, Evelyn heard movement and a cackling laugh. Her head jerked up and her empty eyes fixed on the bloodied blade of a knife, clutched in the grey, disgusting fingers of a hag. The black-robed old woman cackled again and bared her yellowed teeth. "My deed is done. My condolences."

Before Evelyn could understand what had happened, the hag was gone; the thick trees and undergrowth of the Western March swallowing her whole.

"Avery," Evelyn sobbed, holding him in her arms. Her tears dripped onto his cheeks. His blood dripped onto the earth. "Aslan!"


	3. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER ONE: ****_AMONG THE PAGES_**

"I stepped into the bookshop and breathed in

that perfume of paper and magic that strangely

no one had ever thought of bottling."

- Carlos Ruiz Zafón, _The Angel's Game_

* * *

On the 5th of May, 2012, a cold spring day dawned on the little country town of Applevale.

An old historical sign above what had once been a general store creaked softly in a light breeze. Birds sung in the hedges. A few cars, as sluggish as their drivers, crawled along the narrow roads. Amid broad limbed trees and quiet streets slept a small white house. A red bicycle leant on the front porch and the front door had a brass door knocker in the shape of a lion's head. Inside, on the second floor, curled up in bed, lay a young woman who had just about buried herself in the sheets. She whispered something aloud, caught up in a dream. An alarm beeped, a harsh sound in the quiet, immediately rousing her from her slumber and shattering the adventure in her mind. Mumbling incoherently, she came awake. Long lashes framed sleepy dark brown eyes as she glared at the time glowing on the digital clock.

"Six O'clock." Her hands covered her face. "Who the hell starts work at six?"

With an angry groan she flicked the sheets back and padded over the carpet to the bathroom. In the shower glass, her reflection looked blearily back at her. Less than impressed with her appearance, she ran a hand through her dark hair. A quick shower later and Ariadne Hamilton was descending the stairs in dark jeans, boots and a round-necked white blouse. The kitchen clock ticked closer to six O'clock as Ariadne grabbed an apple and a shoulder bag.

"Goodbye, Prince," she called to a sleek black feline reclining on a kitchen chair. Prince responded with a twitch of his ear and a yawn. Ariadne rolled her eyes good-naturedly as she pushed open the door and found herself out in the dawn light. Swinging a leg over her red bike, Ariadne pedaled down the street toward the first day at her new job. Despite the early hour, it was pleasant out on the street. Leafy trees whispered above Ariadne and her bike, every now and again letting leaves float to the pavement.

Grey light touched the horizon as the sun rose and by the time Ariadne had reached the right street, the sky was pale blue. She skidded to a halt outside a door whose green paint had begun to peel. Above the entrance _Greens Books _had been freshly scrawled in neat handwriting with black paint. Ariadne locked her bike to a lamp post and hurriedly pushed into the bookstore. A little bell jangled softly.

The first thing that Ariadne Hamilton always noticed upon walking in was the rich smell of books. Leather, yellowed pages, dust and the plastic-y scent of newly printed novels filled the cool air. Mahogany shelves greeted her eyes, stretching away into the darkened corners of the bookshop. Neatly arranged on each shelf, front-cover to back-cover and spine to spine, new and old books defied the passage of time and mingled together. Alphabetized by the last letter of the author's name, placed into the correct genre and never discriminated by age, these books were just waiting for new homes.

Ariadne reflected that working here was almost like being in a pet adoption center (albeit the books were much quieter, obedient and didn't shed hair); they were simply watching and seeking new owners to pick them up and flick gently through their pages. There were so many stories here that sometimes Ariadne fancied she could _hear_ them.

She made her way to the front counter and switched on the lamp. "This place really needs a dust," she murmured.

"I don't know about that," a warm, soft voice said nearby.

A tall young man with a shock of black hair that fell artfully into his crystal clear blue eyes, stepped out from between two shelves. He gave Ariadne a smile that would melt even the coldest heart. Ariadne felt herself blushing and looked down.

"Hello, Connor."

Connor crossed the old creaky floorboards in a few easy strides. He carefully placed a stack of books on the desk and nodded to a computer that looked older than he and Ariadne were put together. "Can you make sure these are in the system. Mr Green wants a list of how many books we have currently and I'm not sure these got processed. They're some of the older ones."

"Yeah," Ariadne said, feeling slightly daunted by the pile as though it were a mountain she had been told to climb. "No problem."

She made the mistake of looking up as Connor smiled at her. "Thanks," he said before vanishing back into the depths of the store.

Ariadne swallowed. "He's just a boy," she whispered to herself, feeling her cheeks burning. "A very, _very_ good-looking boy ... who you've been crushing on ever since you bumped into him at the Market, maybe three years ago ..." With a weary sigh, Ariadne set about her task.

The day wore on as Ariadne logged books into the system and kept reminding herself that Connor Atwood would never even give her a second glance. Dust motes danced in the sunshine and every now and again the little bell would trill softly. Ariadne would smile politely at the customer, more often than not a regular elderly patron, and call Connor from the back of the shop. Her first day on the job didn't permit her to serve anyone.

Ariadne heaved a long sigh as she finished typing the details of the last ragged tome into the computer. There was the rattle of an ancient keyboard enter key and a gentle whirring of computer parts as Ariadne finished her task. Connor appeared suddenly, leaning across the desk to grab hold of a pen. It skittered away from his fingertips and tipped onto the floor. He grinned at his own foolishness and inclined his head. Ariadne gave an awkward smile and knelt to pick it up.

"Ouch!" Her head connected with the underside of the desk, sending waves of pain through her forehead and hot embarrassment through her cheeks.

"Are you okay?" Connor was beside her in an instant, genuine concern in his eyes. He helped her to her feet and made her sit down in the tattered computer chair. "I think I have an icepack in the office. Don't move."

His disappearance gave Ariadne time to lament her clumsiness in private. She screwed up her eyes and hid her face in her hands. "What is wrong with you!" she demanded aloud, her words muffled. "Of all the stupid, dumb things to do ... You just needed to pick up the pen, Ariadne!" In high school, her clumsiness had been legendary. Falling into door frames, stumbling off the side walk and running into poles were just a few of the daily blunders Ariadne had made. Her classmates had certainly never let her forget falling down the stairs.

Ariadne had hoped that leaving high school would give her the opportunity to change the way people saw her. She wouldn't be the boring teacher's pet who once tripped down the stairs while running late for maths class. It seemed today had proved otherwise. How would Connor be able to look her in the face now! It was as though she were a superhero who had just revealed her true identity. Except that Ariadne Hamilton was the farthest thing from a superhero and her power was making a fool of herself ...

Connor returned with the icepack in hand. He frowned down at her, apparently still concerned. "How do you feel?"

"Fine," Ariadne lied. Not that she had meant to, but her mouth had an annoying habit of speaking and then consulting her brain for the correct information _afterward_.

Either way, Connor was far from looking convinced. He held the icepack gently to Ariadne's forehead. A reassuring smile made his entire face light up. "There we go. That should make you feel better."

"Thanks," Ariadne managed. Being this close to him was making her mind wander and butterflies explode in her stomach.

The bell jingled softly. Connor turned. A hunched old lady with a twisted walking cane shuffled into the store. The big black coat she had thrown about her frail frame almost swallowed her. Her tangle of silvered hair cascaded unchecked down her severely bent back. When she looked up, a pair of green eyes peered out from a pale face that revealed she had once been quite beautiful. Her smile was warm. "Hello, my lad," she said to Connor, looking up at him. "I was wondering if you could help me find a book."

"Of course," Connor returned. He gave a meaningful glance to Ariadne, who nodded and took the icepack.

Connor and the little old lady wandered off down an aisle, chatting as if they had known each other for years. If nothing else, she was friendly, Ariadne decided. She held the icepack to her forehead, grateful that it did actually provide some relief. Minutes passed and Ariadne listened to the old woman telling Connor about this book and that, about manuscripts from 18th century France and Bibles from ancient Rome.

"Must have travelled a lot," murmured Ariadne, lost in thought.

She was jolted from her reverie as there was a loud crash and then a burst of blinding white light. The last thing she heard was Connor yelling her name.


End file.
